A Time for Every Purpose
by Elfpen
Summary: My response to spookisapuppy's 100 themes challenge. There is a time for every emotion, and seasons to every life. These themed oneshots are a peek into the lives of the RA characters. Humor, angst, happiness, sadness, and fluff await you.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I keep seeing these things floating around, and finally realized that I hadn't done one. These 100 themes can be found on the wonderful **spookisapuppy**'s profile.

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice. Ranger's Apprentice and all Characters therein © John Flanagan.**

**Peyer and Cowen (OCs)** **© Myself.**

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**1. Introduction**

Halt looked around himself, trying not to appear uncomfortable. Ironic, how he could live half of his life as royalty, and now the mere thought of wide-open anterooms made him cringe. He stood there in vaulted stone room for a while, listening to a water clock drip quietly in one corner, tracking the servants' movements inconspicuously as he waited for his escort to return. His only shield from the vast openness was the grey-green cloak that hung around him.

Soon enough, he heard footsteps sound on the stairwell. However, they didn't belong to the guard who had brought him here.

"Halt!" A smiling man called to him. Halt looked up and did his best to reciprocate the gesture. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Did they just leave you standing there?" The man sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry about that. Come on up to my quarters, would you? We can talk, and I'll make coffee."

Halt nodded, adding a quiet, "Of course," as he went, and followed his friend upstairs. Once they'd reached the generously sized apartments, Halt's host removed the longsword from his belt and set it aside. Halt removed his large longbow and quiver then went to sit on one of the soft couches in the room.

"How has it been lately, over at Redmont?" The man asked conversationally as he made the coffee. "Warm enough?"

Halt shrugged. "Enough. It's my first winter there, but the weather seems mild enough."

"Mmm," the man raised his eyebrows. "Can't really say the same for Caraway, I'm afraid." He nodded his head meaningfully at the snow-frosted windows.

Halt nodded slightly, and took the moment of silence to study his friend. A clear, lean face, light hair, rough cheeks, and sharp green eyes. But now, after all that had happened, Halt noted that he'd obtained some crinkles around his eyes, and a sad little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Then, he smiled, and the haunted image was dispelled.

"At least we're not living in tents anymore, eh?" The man asked, carrying two steaming mugs into the small living area.

"Indeed. Thank you," Halt took his cup and sipped gratefully at it. There was a pause between them, strung with a strange mixture of tension and comradeship. After a while, Halt set down his cup.

"David…" He started, trying to decipher his friend's odd expression. "How are you doing? I mean, _really._"

David looked away, and then shrugged. "Alright, I suppose. Well as I can be, after such a bloody war." He mumbled, biting his finger a moment before continuing. "You know, Halt, everyone is so happy that it's over now. That we won. And I suppose I am, too. But…" He paused again, casting around for the right words, before looking over at Halt. "Somehow, knowing that he's still out there, still breathing, after all he's done to my country, my men… It's even worse that having to fight him, Halt." Halt nodded quietly, silently echoing David's sentiments. The knight sighed. "I suppose it's no use, this worrying. But I just can't get my mind off it." He tried to change the subject. "I really don't wish to talk about it. But I will ask you about something else: you said something about a promise, when you last left – a child, I thought. What happened there?"

Halt lifted his head in acknowledgment, but didn't speak until he'd thought out what to say. "Yes, it was a child. That sergeant, the one that saved me – Daniel. Just before he died, I promised I'd see too it that his family was looked after – at the time, his wife was only days away from giving birth."

David leaned forward, listening with interest. "And?" he asked, "How is she? That was a while ago yet."

Halt looked down with a sigh. "I'm afraid she didn't make it very long after she had her baby. Her son, however, is doing well."

It took several moments for David to answer. "That's… I'm sorry to hear that." He said. "About the mother, I mean. But the boy, isn't he an orphan, now?"

"He is," Halt nodded. "And the Baron has accepted him into the Ward."

"Ah," David's expression cleared. The Redmont Ward had only been in operation for a few years, and he was glad that such a brilliant institution would care for this unfortunate child. A thought struck him. "What is his name?"

Halt took a sip of coffee before answering. "Will," He said.

David nodded thoughtfully. "Will," He repeated. "A good name." He reached for his cup of coffee, but just as he did, a series of banging noises sounded outside the apartment. "Oh, no." The man grinned. "Here comes trouble." Halt glanced at his friend, perplexed.

David set down his cup and turned towards the door, where the bangs were growing louder. Suddenly, a spindly mass of flesh and untidy blond hair burst into the room.

"Daddy, dad, I got to ride a horse today! Not a pony, a real _battlehorse!_ Do you think that I'm big enough to ride Archie yet? I wanted to, but mum said I had to ask you first. Did you know that they're having a giant snow war out in the courtyard? I'm going to go out and see if I can find Michael. He's the best with snowballs. Maybe we could make a giant fort, and Peyter told me that-" Suddenly, in the middle of a wild spin, the boy froze. His smile disappeared, and his wide blue eyes fixated on Halt like a frightened doe.

Halt tried to pretend that this six-year-old wasn't making him uncomfortable. It didn't work - he hated being stared at. Not wanting to alarm the juvenile any more than he already was, Halt shifted in his spot. "Hello," He said.

The boy wasn't comforted. "Da-ad," He turned towards David, and darted behind his father. "Who is that?" He asked in a harsh whisper.

David frowned at his son. "Gilan, is that any way to behave with guests? Gilan," he drug his son out from behind him, "This is Ranger Halt." He looked up to Halt. "Halt, I'd like to introduce you to my son, Gilan." David looked back down at the wary blue eyes by his knee. "Gilan, say hello."

The boy did so, nervously. "Hello." He eyed Halt nervously, as if the ranger were made of some volatile material that could lash out and burn him at any moment.

Halt nodded back, wondering if he was really _that _scary. "Nice to meet you, Gilan."

Before anything else could be said, Gilan rushed away from both adults towards the hall. "I'." He slipped slightly on the floorboards as he went, and had to make a strange flailing movement to right himself. Then, just as he left the room, he whipped a book off a side table, sending two pieces of paper floating to the ground.

David shook his head. "Yeah, that's Gilan alright. Sorry about him, Halt. He's a bit… Unpredictable."

Halt couldn't hide the smile as he watched the small boy clamber off. "Not a problem, David." _What an odd boy, _Halt thought. _No telling what he'll get up to when he's older. _Halt's thoughts were forgotten as he tried to take another swig of his coffee, and was met by a gritty bitterness. He surveyed the dregs with a frown. "Anymore coffee?"

Little did the ranger know, he'd just received one of the most important introductions of his life.

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**3. Light**

Halt groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. He hated the sun. Blast it, he hated the sun, the moon, the stars, the darned candle burning by his bedside, the mirror that reflected it into his eyes, the bloody fireplace and its stupid fire. He hated _light. _And most of all, he hated his stupid window, that let the light streaming into his bedroom, burning his eyes out of their sockets.

Was there any particular reason for this hatred? Well, it may or may not have had something to do with the fact that Halt, along with several other apprenticed Rangers, had graduated last night. And, at the ensuing graduation party, Halt may or may not have consumed a glass of hard whiskey. Or two. Or perhaps three. Was it three? Yes, Halt's groggy mind told him, it was definitely three.

Needless to say, navigating out of one's bedroom with one's brains swimming about in one's skull, with one's eyelids clamped firmly shut and a chorus of buzzing in one's ears, is by no means an easy task – much less a safe one. By the time he was out of his door, Halt had cursed, yelled, screamed, kicked, smashed, broken, tripped and gagged. And once he finally managed to open his door, he was so preoccupied that he forgot to close his eyes.

"AUGH!" His arm flew to shield his eyes from the painful sunlight streaming in through the windows, and he fell back against the wall before sinking to the floor. He sat there for a while, brooding over his hatred for existence and the world at large. Then, a series of great crashing, squeaking footsteps filled his ears, and he realized that there was someone standing right in front of him.

"Well that's odd." Crowley said unnecessarily and entirely too loudly.

Halt was about to curse at him, but Crowley spoke again,

"It's funny; I've always been told that Hibernians can drink flagons of ale and not get drunk. And yet you have one swig of harmless whiskey, and you turn into this." Halt could hear Crowley waving his arm at him. "Halt, are you _sure_ you're Hibernian?"

"_Féadfaidh __feargach__ laechonnachies__ ionsaí__ tú__ i__ do__ chodladh! _Of course I'm Hibernian!" Halt crawled away from the man, blindly swatting at Crowley's legs to let him by.

Crowley let him crawl past, frowning at the unfamiliar language. "What did you say?" he asked.

Halt cursed as he bumped into a chair. "Nothing. And it wasn't a 'swig'. It was three bloody pints."

Crowley snorted. "You wish. I was with you the whole time, Halt – you barely had _one_ pint, let alone three." The sandy haired ranger said as Halt hauled himself up in front of the kitchen stove.

"No, it was _three. _Otherwise, I wouldn't be so-GAUH!" Halt hissed and yanked back his arm as his hand made contact with a very hot stovetop. "Bloody son of a- _Crowley! _Why didn't you tell me I was by the _stove?"_

Crowley shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he was being thoroughly amused by Halt's antics. "I thought you knew."

"My eyes are _closed, _you idiot!"

"Hey, you could have been looking for coffee."

"I can't _look _for coffee with my eyes closed, moron. I was trying to find the _window._"

"Oh," Crowley rolled his eyes in a sarcastic way. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot." Halt answered quickly. "Now where is the window?"

"Right there." Crowley pointed uselessly.

"_Crowley!_"

He rolled his eyes again. "What do you want with it? You aren't going to tear my curtains down, are you?"

"I want to block out the stupid light." Halt grumbled, feeling his way – much more carefully than before – along the counter.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Crowley walked over to the window with ease and drew the heavy curtains across their rods, darkening the majority of the cabin. "You can open your eyes, now."

Halt did, hesitantly. The first thing he saw was Crowley peering at him. "Good grief, Halt – your eyes are terrible." Somewhere in Crowley's green gaze, Halt could detect pity, concern, and a definite sense of amusement. Halt appreciated none of these emotions at the moment.

"Shut up. And stop talking so loudly." Halt shoved at Crowley's shoulder and drunkenly swerved around in the kitchen, looking for the coffee pot.

Eventually, Crowley came to his rescue and picked up the pot from beneath Halt's nose, where the dark-eyed ranger had somehow failed to spot it. "Let me take care of that," He said. "You might burn it, and then what will you do?"

Halt grumbled something in Hibernian, but did not protest. Instead, he grabbed a blanket form a nearby rack, fashioned it around his head and shoulders in a makeshift cowl, and threw himself into a convenient lounge chair. He pulled up his legs and crossed his arms grumpily, scowling at couch cushions across the room with detestation. He would have made a terrifying picture, if it weren't for the fact that the blanket that Halt had chosen as a cloak was woven in a cheery lavender color. Crowley saw this, and smirked.

Halt's former master, Cowen, had warned Crowley once that Halt couldn't hold his liquor. However, the young ranger hadn't had any reason to believe the older man until now. But Crowley was definitely convinced, what with Halt cursing and staggering and grumbling and muttering in the strange tongue of his homeland. However, when Cowen had delivered Crowley the warning, he'd also given him a piece of advice:

Strong and black; no sugar, no cream, and pinch of salt to _really _wake him up.

Crowley brought Halt a cup of coffee, and the other ranger took it with a grunt. After a minute or two, he took a sip, and his eyes widened. He glanced at Crowley sharply, but the other ranger didn't notice as he put a skillet on the stove. Halt looked back down into his steaming mug with slight surprise. He recognized the taste – a brew that a rather annoyed Cowen had concocted a few years ago after he and Halt had attended a formal banquet and the obligatory toast of wine had left Halt, er, incapacitated the next morning.

Halt sipped at it again, grimacing at the odd mix of bitterness and saltiness, but knowing it would do wonders for his cognitive faculties. He had always resented the fact that even the slightest amount of alcohol gave him a hangover, but he was grateful that Crowley was kind enough to get him some good, strong coffee. And close the curtains. And cook breakfast. And put up with his grumpiness. And cursing. And muttering in a foreign language. Halt looked down into his mug, and his coffee-colored reflection stared up at him with guilt. Halt turned towards Crowley to thank the other ranger for all he'd done. But then Halt remembered the incident with the stove, and decided that he was still too grumpy to show his friend any gratitude. He turned back around and huddled in his purple cowl to drink his coffee.

Eventually, after Halt had finished his brew and eaten some breakfast, he rose and went back to his room. He squinted, fearing the light that would be streaming in through his windows, but when he reached his doorway, he realized that his previously open curtains had been drawn and temporarily tacked down to keep out all light. He shuffled back into the kitchen, where Crowley was reading a book over a plate of bacon.

"Erm, thanks." He said awkwardly. He sniffed, wondering if he should say anything else. Deciding he shouldn't, he left.

Crowley watched him go and smiled. Halt wished the world to think that he was a scowling, melancholic Hibernian with the disposition of an angry badger and an attitude to match. But deep down, Crowley knew that Halt was just a pussy cat.

His thoughts were interrupted by Halt loudly cursing in Hibernian as he tripped over a chair.

Albeit a tattered, grumpy pussy cat who couldn't hold his liquor, but a pussy cat nonetheless.

Halt slammed his door. Crowley sipped at his coffee.

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A/N: In case any of you were wondering, Halt's string of Hibernian (aka Irish) translates roughly into 'may angry leprechauns attack you in your sleep'.

Hmm... Okay, so both of those were more like oneshots than drabbles... I hope you guys enjoyed them anyway.

Read and review!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I wanted to update Blazing a Trail, but school projects have been hogging my creativity. So, you get drabbles instead. Enjoy.

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**2. Love**

If someone were to ask him when he first knew, he would be pressed to find a definite answer. He'd been telling her that he loved her ever since they were toddlers – but then again, he hadn't always known what that meant.

When he was five, it meant that he owed his life (and a substantial portion of his backside) to her for not letting the ward nurses know that he'd snuck out after dark for a snack. Again.

When he was seven, it meant that he appreciated her willingness to help him with his lessons (which he was certifiably horrible at) when no one else would.

When he was ten, it meant that she as his only true friend, who always comforted him after a confrontation with his growing rival, Horace.

But after that, things started to change.

When he was twelve, it meant that she wasn't just a wardmate anymore - she was much more than that. A friend, a comforter, and someone who truly cared. For someone who had never had a mother or a sister or a best friend, she was all three whenever he needed them. And that was when he could first truly say that he loved her. All through his tweens, she truly became his best friend.

But then, as they both became teenagers, something happened that completely changed their relationship. He didn't really know why on earth he hadn't noticed it before – at the time, he hadn't even known what had hit him. He'd just been walking through the castle yard one day, on his way to his favorite tree. He'd looked up and saw her reading on a nearby bench, as she often did. Then, suddenly and completely out of the blue, a mind-blowing revelation hit him like a ton of bricks.

She was a _girl._

And not just any girl, she was an incredibly beautiful girl. Since when had that happened? When she'd caught him staring at her, she'd frowned and asked him if anything was wrong. And when she'd looked at him with those cool, gorgeous eyes, for the first time in his life he found that he couldn't say anything. He'd choked on his own throat and hurried past her to the shelter of the fig tree.

When he was thirteen, it meant that she was his first crush.

After that, every time he'd said 'I love you' like he normally did, he was somewhat surprised to find himself blushing scarlet. For several long months, there was a tense period while he tried to sort out his feelings for her. If she had developed any feelings for him, she didn't let him know. After a while, he decided that he couldn't bear to complicate their friendship with his feelings, so he ignored them. Well, he tried to.

When he was seventeen, it meant that she was his oldest companion and closest colleague. They grew up close to each other even through their apprenticeship years, and although they both worked in difficult fields, they found themselves together more often than was strictly necessary. Slowly, they began to recognize that not only had they grown up together, gone through personal battles together, but now they were working together; and they worked together well. And by that time, neither of them could deny it.

When he was twenty one, it meant that she was his true love. It took an agonizingly long time for them to finally admit it to each other. They grew up, became adults, graduated, moved away from each other. They hurt each other, came back, left and were reunited. But after it all, it came down to the simple but ancient words, 'I love you'.

When he was twenty three, it meant that she was the only woman whom he would ever love. Standing at the altar with more than two decades together already, their thousands of 'I love yous' were sealed with an oath, 'I do'.

But even since then, even after a seemingly finalizing moment, things had been changing. They grew together; faced storms together, worked together, and lived together. Through the laughter, tears, joy, pain, fear, hurt, they were together. But then, one day, a single discovery changed the meaning of 'I love you' once again.

Now, at twenty six, it meant that she was his wife who was carrying his child; the woman who would raise a family alongside him; the wonderful friend who would give him another soul to bring into their home and their love.

Careful not to wake his sleeping wife, Will laid a hand on Alyss' growing belly and wondered what 'I love you' would come to mean in nine months time.

He smiled.

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**4. Dark**

The older kids normally helped the younger ones learn the ropes. The girls would comfort the new wards, the boys would mentor them and show them around. The ward was an exclusive club and family – a tight-knit group that depended on one another for the familial love that they wouldn't know otherwise. Most children, after losing their parents, grew closer to one another and found it easy to love and pity one another.

But then, there was always a few who lashed out instead. For a couple of twelve-year-old bullies who relished in nothing more than torturing others, Horace had been an easy target. Three years old and freshly orphaned, the wounds of his parents' death were still open and tender. He cried for his late mother often – sometimes, he'd cry himself to sleep for days at a time. He carried the stuffed black bear that his mother had made him with him everywhere he went, and was overall a very helpless, hurting boy.

The prime target.

Their bullying started out as superficial teasing; the older children disapproved and intervened, but they didn't think it was too serious. But after several weeks, one of the older girls had awoken from a deep sleep to the sound of screaming. By the time she'd found him and released him from the pitch-black, locked closet, he was in hysterics. He refused to go anywhere without a lighted candle or a ray of sunlight. He wouldn't go into small rooms, and absolutely abhorred closets. The bullies were stopped after the incident, but the damage had been done, and claustrophobia had been traumatically burned into Horace's mind.

Twenty years later, although he couldn't remember a single second of the incident with the closet, the fear was still there.

He held his strange, glowing moss closely and tried to remind himself that he was perfectly alright and in no danger as he inched along the narrow cave tunnel. With Will ahead of him and Halt and Malcolm behind, he wasn't alone.

He hated the dark – he hated it irrationally and completely. But as he squeezed through that unimaginably tight, completely black tunnel, surrounded by some of his best friends in the world, the darkness didn't seem so dark anymore.

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A/N: Meh. Don't like the second one. Oh well. Hope y'all enjoyed (for however short this update is)


	3. Chapter 3

**5. Seeking Solace**

The walls seemed to shake slightly every time the thunder rolled in from the distance, and the rain poured in uneven sheets against the heavy window shutters to create a symphony of noise and movement that would test the resilience of even the deepest of sleepers.

Cowan yawned against his hand as he shuffled through the halls of Castle Araluen. He'd stayed up well past night, holed away with the King in his study, trying to sort out the diplomatic nightmare that had appeared overnight. A Hibernian defector was not entirely unheard of in Araluen's history , though quite rare, considering that Araluen was at peace with Hibernia. However, a royal Hibernian defector whom the current monarchs of Hibernia believed to be dead was a different matter entirely. Cowan felt nothing but pity and concern for Halt, but he was unsure as to how they would handle the displaced Prince's situation. He, the King and Martin had yet to speak with Halt, but they planned to do so the following morning. Cowan supposed that the troubles plaguing his mind could wait until he'd gotten a few hours of sleep.

Tired he may be, but Cowan was a ranger, and he remained completely silent as he moved through the hallways. His eyes swept back and forth across the empty anterooms, taking in his surroundings in the flashes of lightning that periodically illuminated the hall. Cowan was just passing by the royal guest suites when a particularly large lightning strike flashed through the window. In the few seconds of light that the lightning provided, the ranger's sharp eyes picked up the outline of a man sitting at a nearby window.

Cowan paused, working to identify the figure in the dim light. Slowly, he stepped into the small side-room that offered a semi-circle of window seats in a relief from the long hall. When the next flash of lightning came, Cowan was able to work through the features quickly. Small stature, dark, curly hair, fair skin, high cheekbones, and an uncannily still countenance.

"Quite a storm, isn't it?"

Halt's head spun around in the stormy light, but his shoulders eased when he recognized Cowan in his ranger's cloak. He turned back toward the window. "We had many storms such as this in Clonmel," he said after a moment. "The northern coast isn't kind during the summer gales." His voice contrasted to Cowan's sharply, the thick Hibernian brogue still fresh from his homeland.

Cowen nodded but said nothing, gazing out into the downpour alongside the solemn former-prince. Several moments of quiet passed by easily before either of them spoke.

"I like them," Halt said unexpectedly. Cowan frowned, and asked him what he meant. "Thunderstorms," Halt explained, "most people don't like them. I enjoy them." He blinked into the comforting daze of rain, "At Dun Kilty, my sister and I will stay up for hours to just watch the rain."

Cowan smiled. "Well, I don't blame you. I've always found the sound of rain rather hypnotic, myself."

Halt said nothing, his mind far away in another place. After several quiet moments he said, "I suppose that won't happen anymore. Dun Kilty no longer has a place for me." He burrowed his chin deeper into his knees.

Cowan frowned at the prince. In the few weeks that he'd known the boy, Cowan hadn't known Halt to open up like this to anyone. Frankly, he didn't know what to say to the boy. It wasn't as if Cowan knew how he felt. Halt had been driven from his home at the point of a knife by a resentful brother, to a country that he knew nearly nothing of, left at the mercy of a foreign crown that could decide his fate arbitrarily. He had no place to live, no family to look after him, and no occupation to fall on. He was truly alone in a hostile world. In an unfamiliar wave of compassion, Cowan wondered what he personally could do for this unfortunate young man.

"It's not Dun Kilty, by any stretch," Cowan moved closer to Halt, "but if I have anything to say about it, you'll always be welcome here." Halt looked up at Cowan, a protest on his lips, but Cowan stopped him by placing a strong hand on his shoulder. "You may not be going back to Clonmel any time soon, Halt," Cowan wondered what exactly he was promising as he continued, "but I promise you, you'll see your sister again." He paused, then smiled, "and maybe it'll even be during a thunderstorm."

Halt didn't say anything, but after glancing at Cowan's hand and then back up at the man's eyes, Cowan could have sworn that, for the first time in four weeks, Halt smiled. It was in that small gesture that Cowan knew that the prince would be alright.

"Sleep well, Halt." Cowan turned and silently stepped away. Before he could disappear, Halt said,

"Ranger Cowan?"

He turned. "Yes?"

There was a small pause. "_Bhuíochas_."

Cowan smiled at the prince. "_Tá fáilte_, Halt." He cast one last look out the window, then stepped away.

* * *

A/N: So, kind of pointless little drabble. Cowen is my OC who will have a large role in 'Running for My Life'. This drabble will probably be elaborated on and incorporated into later chapters of that story.

The ending bit of Irish is basically 'thank you' and 'you're welcome'.

* * *

**6. Break Away**

It had been an awkward week for Will. Technically, he was graduated and no longer under Halt's tutelage, but at the same time, Halt was still his master, and he still lived in Halt's home. It was a strange feeling. He was regarded by all others as an adult, a mature and completely qualified ranger who was, effectively, of equal status to Halt. And yet, inside, he couldn't help but feeling like that confused little orphan who stumbled up onto Halt's verandah so many years ago, not knowing what on earth he'd just gotten himself into.

Part of him was excited to move to his own fief, partially because of the adventure, partially because he just couldn't stand the awkward shuffling about his now former master. Will loved Halt like a father, but now that he was grown and graduated, things had started to feel a bit... Off. It was time for change, he knew in his heart, but then, part of him didn't want anything to change at all.

Will fingered the silver oakleaf at his neck nervously as he glanced over the packs of belongings that were strewn about his bed. He'd lived here for the past six years of his life. It hadn't been even half of his lifetime, yet it felt like longer than an eternity. The room looked strange, now, stripped of everything that it had once held on a daily basis. Will's bow no longer leaned against the corner, his mandola no longer rested on the chair. The wardrobe, where it had once abounded with greens, greys, and browns, was now empty and bare. Even the sketches and small pictures that had once hung on the walls were gone. It looked foreign, unnatural. And yet, Will thought with a twinge of sadness, it looked right. It was time.

The first few days of Will's week off-duty was spent celebrating with his friends. Horace, Alyss, and Jenny were all there to laugh with him and congratulate him. Even Evanlyn had stayed for a time after the ceremony, though duty soon called her away to the capitol. George was away on business, but he'd sent his congratulations by letter. All in all, it was a busy, fun time. But after the initial excitement wore off, a strange, unexpected blanket of awkwardness fell over Will, particularly in his interactions with Halt.

Halt, he knew, had gone through this process once before with Gilan, so he had to have at least some idea of how these things worked out, but Will didn't know what to do with himself. On one side of things, he and Halt hadn't changed a bit. He was still the cheery, curious, energetic young man that Halt had apprenticed six years ago, and Halt was still the taciturn, quiet, devious ranger that Will had grown to admire. However, on the other hand, it seemed as though the relationship between Will and Halt had changed overnight. Will supposed that it had been a long time in coming, and he realized that he should have seen the changes begin months ago, but now that he was graduated, he realized all at once the ties that were being cut between he and Halt.

He would no longer live under Halt's roof. He would no longer answer to Halt. Halt could no longer instruct him on what to do or when to do it, and Will couldn't go to Halt whenever he needed help. Halt was no longer responsible for Will's actions, no more than Will was ever responsible for Halt's actions. Halt was no longer Will's teacher. Will was no longer Halt's pupil. And that scared him.

Perhaps part of him was relieved to finally be free to live as his own man, with his own life. But another part of him shrunk away from the impending solitary life of a full-fledged ranger, and longed for another few years spent with Halt in his small forest-side cabin.

It was with these conflicting emotions and fears that Will stood on the familiar old veranda the next day, taking unnecessary time to fiddle with Tug's tack and make sure everything was perfectly in place before he finally turned back around. Halt stood there, watching his apprentice - former apprentice, that is - quietly. Will twiddled his fingers against his leggings, wondering what to say.

"You have everything?" Halt asked him. Will nodded, not really looking at the other ranger. Halt nodded, and a tense silence began. Will's gut twisted uncomfortably. The past few days had been unbearable. He knew he couldn't leave Halt for good on a note like this. He had to say something to rectify the past few days, but... What?

"Halt, I..." His voice faded, and he realized that he hadn't the slightest inkling of what he was trying to say. "I mean," he stopped again, making a few vague gestures with his hands in an attempt to get his mouth moving. It didn't work. Then, Will looked up to his old friend and master, and he paused when he saw something in Halt's eyes that he'd been overlooking for days: Complete and total understanding.

All at once, tears choked the young ranger on the spot, and he abandoned all attempts at speech. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped Halt in a hug tight enough to convey all the mixed-up emtions he'd been dealing with for the past few days. Will wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not when Halt hugged him back.

"It'll be better, when you come back," Halt told his apprentice quietly as he pulled away. "It's strange now, but it won't be in a few months. You just have to hold out until then."

Will sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Okay," He said, nodding. After a moment, he added, "Sorry, Halt."

Halt shook his head. "Don't, Will. There's no need. Now, it's time for you to get going." He patted Will on the back and watched him mount up atop Tug. "Have a good trip, and for God's sake, try not to embarrass yourself in front of the court on your first day." Will smiled at him, recognizing a jibe when he saw one. Halt nodded as well, patting Tug on the head absently. Then, he looked Will in the eye and nodded. "I'm proud of you, son. It's been a true honor."

Will could only stare. During his apprenticeship, he'd always wondered what true praise would sound like coming from Halt's mouth, but he had never considered that it might sound like this, quiet and understated, to the point, and full of meaning. Will blinked. After years spent with the man, only now was Will realizing that true praise from Halt wasn't found in words, but in actions: in six long years of sacrifice, hard work, and friendship that had made them what they were today - made _Will_ what he was today. Six long years that were now drawn to a close with that one statement: _I'm proud of you._

Trying unsuccessfully to blink back tears and swallow the lump in his throat, Will smiled at Halt. "Thank you, Halt." was all he could muster. Halt gave him that single, decisive nod, and the two clasped hands. Then, Will turned Tug around and trotted out of the clearing, to the road that would take him to Seacliff. He didn't look back, but he sat a little straighter in the saddle than he did before.

Behind him, Halt stood there on the verandah for several minutes after Will was out of sight, not bothering to wipe the tear away from the corner of his eye. Of all people, Will was worth a few tears. That young man had come so far, he thought to himself. But now was his time to go out from under Halt's wing and lead his own life. It was hard, letting go of the man whom Halt had grown to consider as his own son, but it was something that had to be done. And besides, Halt thought, sniffing loudly and turning back towards his now empty cabin, Will might not be his apprentice anymore, but he was hardly gone. Breaking away was hard on both master and apprentice, but then, Halt knew that this wasn't the end of their story together; it was merely the beginning of a new chapter.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I admit it. I cried when I was writing this. I'm moving out of the house and off to college in about a month (scary, isn't it?) and I am going through a lot of the emotions that Will is sorting through in this little drabble. Perhaps I made him too emotional for a guy, let alone a ranger (if there are any guys reviewing this, they'll have to tell me) but it's just me conveying my own fears/feelings over moving away to college.

Anyway. Read and review, please!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I was going to try to do these in order, but then I realized that that was no fun. So, skip ahead!

* * *

**56. Loyalty**

"No sign of him here, Sir," the soldier told the knight sadly.

Horace bit his lip and tried to restrain his panic. "Very well." He said, his voice nearly cracking, "Move on, and keep searching."

It was nearly dark as the search party fanned out through the forest, but Horace didn't have any intentions of giving up the search, not while he was still alive. _That's my son out there,_ he gripped Kimiko's reins tighter. _So help me, if he's not already dead when I find him, I'll kill him myself._ "Move on, deeper into the forest."

"Sir?"

"We keep searching."

"But sir, it's nearly dark out…"

"I said, _move on._"

The soldier gulped back his reluctance. "Yes, sir."

Horace sighed and gritted his teeth. Liam had left without so much as a word earlier that morning, taking his dog Lance with him. He hadn't meant any harm by it, but the boy was constantly forgetting to tell anyone when he left the castle and where he was going. Horace had always been annoyed by this habit, and tried to get his son to ask permission before wandering off, but at eight years old and insatiably curious about everything, Liam hardly ever remembered what his father said for more than five seconds at a time.

No one had realized that he was gone until nearly dinner time. Everyone at the castle had been busy with preparations for the upcoming yuletide celebration, and no one had noticed that young Liam was missing until late in the evening. After many questions, it came out that a young stable hand had seen Liam leave towards the forest earlier that day. Immediately, Horace had known that something had gone wrong. Liam knew better than to stay out at night, especially in winter, and by the time his absence was realized, it was dusk.

Now, Horace wished he'd assigned a personal escort to follow the boy around, if only he could have avoided _this._ It was dark, cold, and the Araluan forests were crawling with all sorts of predators. Horace did his best not to dwell on all the horrible things that could have happened to his son.

"Horace, we'll need torches soon." Gilan rode up next to him.

"Yes… Fine…" Horace said absently, scanning the treeline carefully.

"We'll find him, Horace." The ranger assured him.

The knight sighed. He sure hoped so.

It was a while later when Gilan's head shot up suddenly.

"What is it?" Horace cast him a curious look.

"Shhh," the ranger held out a hand. He was probably the only man in the entire group with enough nerve to shush Horace, but the knight hardly noticed. "Do you hear that?" Gilan asked. Horace strained his hearing.

"No… But, wait. Is that…" The noise grew louder, and the two only had time to share a look of sudden recognition before the noise came bounding over the hillside in the form of a huge, shaggy dog.

"Lance!" Horace said. Lance spotted the group and continued to bark at them, his front paws spaced wide apart, his tail whipping back and forth excitedly. "Come here, Lance."

Normally obedient, the dog continued to bark at his master. He looked behind himself and then back at Horace and the search party. He barked, then lunged backwards again, only to return to look down at the group. He continued barking.

"He wants us to follow him," Gilan guessed.

"Liam." Horace dismounted Kimiko and ran up the hillside. Gilan followed. Now that his master finally understood, Lance rushed down the other side of the hill, barking all the way. Horace could hardly see a thing in the dim light, but Gilan came in with a torch, and the scene was slowly brought into light.

"Liam!" Horace rushed forward toward the small body that lie curled on the ground. He was covered in blood. His eyes were closed. Heart racing, Horace put a hand to his son's bloodied face. "Liam?"

It took a few seconds, but two eyelids fluttered open to reveal tired green eyes. "Daddy?"

"Oh, thank God," Horace brought the boy into a hug, but Liam screamed. It was only then that Horace noticed that one of Liam's legs was sitting off at an odd angle, already swollen and purple where the bone had broken. "I'm sorry, Liam, I'm so sorry," He soothed, setting the boy back down. "What happened? Why are you covered in blood?" Horace smudged at the dried blood on the boy's forehead, trying to find the wound.

"I fell," he pointed towards a rock, one he'd been climbing on earlier, "and couldn't get back up. I tried, but it hurts." He sniffled and rubbed at his nose, which was bright red in the cold. "The blood is from the wolf."

"What?" Horace was suddenly alarmed. "Wolf? What wolf?"

"That one," Liam pointed shakily towards a tree a few yards away. At the tree's base lay a heap of bloody grey animal, its fur stirring softly in the wind. "It tried to attack us. Lance attacked it instead."

Horace didn't know what to say. He looked back over to the massive grey dog that stood panting by Gilan's side, and now realized that his wiry fur was covered in patches of dark blood – wolf blood. It seem to be concentrated around his long jaws. "And… And how'd it get on you?" He finally asked.

"Lance was lying beside me all this time. He was keeping me warm. He only left to fight the wolf, and to find you." As his son spoke, Horace looked to Gilan, who looked just as amazed as he did. "He would stand over me and growl whenever anything came near, daddy. I've never seen Lance growl before, have you?" Horace could only shake his head. "It's scary," Liam continued, "unless it's protecting you. Then it's a sort of good growling."

"Yeah," Horace said eventually, "yeah, I bet it is. Now come on, we need to get that leg in a splint. Gilan, you have your medic kit?"

"Of course, here," Gilan produced the medical supplies and laid them down on the ground.

"You do it," Horace told him. "You've more medical knowledge than I, and God only knows your hands will be steadier about now," Horace sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I'm glad you're safe," he told Liam. "So help me, don't you _ever_ do that again, Liam. Your mother is in practical hysterics by now."

"I'm sorry, daddy." Liam looked up at his father, and Horace knew from that one look, covered in blood and grime and sweat and a red, frozen nose, that Liam truly was sorry. He'd learned his lesson the hard way.

Horace sighed. "You're safe, and that's all that matters." He held his son steady as Gilan set the bone rather painfully and bound it in a split. Ever adept to people, Gilan knew exactly what to say to keep Liam laughing even as he finished wrapping his leg. As he did so, Horace turned away to pet Lance affectionately.

"Good boy, Lance, good boy. You saved my son, you wonderful thing. If only you knew how much you've done for me." Lance just smiled his doggy smile and licked Horace's hand. He knew exactly what he'd done – and that's why he'd done it.

"You are a brilliant dog, and you are getting a huge steak when we get home." Horace glanced over the patches of fur that were covered in blood, and realized that not all of them were stains from the wolf – some were wounds. He frowned. "And a good cleaning, too."

After Gilan was done, Horace went over to Liam and checked him for any other injuries.

"Daddy?" Liam asked after a minute, tiredly.

"What is it, Liam?"

"Can we go home now?"

Horace broke into a smile, and was a little surprised to find a single tear of relief running down his face. "Yes, Liam, we can go home." Careful of the boy's leg, Horace picked up his son and carried him back to Kimiko.

"And daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Can Lance sleep in my room tonight?"

Horace looked over at the huge animal that was following them quietly. That wonderful, loyal dog who had defended and protected and cared for his son. Horace nodded.

"Yes, Lance can most definitely sleep in your room tonight." He looked back at the dog.

"Good boy, Lance."

As most dogs do, Lance followed them without comment, without gloating, without taunting or demanding. He merely jogged after his master's steed as they trotted back to the castle, content in the knowledge that his pup was safe.

* * *

**84. Nap**

Cassandra sighed and rubbed her temples. As royalty, she should have been used to long, boring diplomatic meetings by now. Unfortunately, nothing could quite prepare her for listening to a Gallican diplomat droll on in that nasally accent for two hours concerning the desire of the Gallican monarchy for the Araluan royalty to come to visit. It was Cassandra's job to convince them that they did not have any desire to visit their neighbors across the sea, and she had to do it all diplomatically so as not to start an unintentional war. Usually, it would have been primarily her father who had to deal with such matters, but with the King sick in bed, unable to finish any sentence without coughing or sneezing, the duty was left to his daughter.

"Oh, my head," she mumbled to herself, trying to keep that boorish Gallican accent from branding itself into her mind.

There were three things that she wanted in that moment. Firstly, she wanted a nice cup of tea and a comfy sofa. Secondly, she wanted a great big hug from her husband. Thirdly, she wanted to see her sons peacefully, quietly asleep. She sighed and wondered if she'd get any of her wishes. She paused her thinking to consider the odds. She'd been gone all day, it was raining outside, so the boys couldn't have played much outside that day, Horace was alone in their quarters with their sons, and last time she'd checked, their supply of tea was frightfully low. She sighed resignedly. Well, at least she knew there would be a comfy sofa.

She passed several guards and nobles on her way to the royal suites, but didn't stop to talk. When she arrived at her destination, she was slightly shocked when she opened the door without being met by any sort of sound. No talking, no playing, not even the rattling and shuffling of the boys' various toys. The loose chain around Lance's neck jingled slightly as he looked up, and his tail thumped against the floor when she stooped to pet him, but otherwise, there wasn't any noise at all in the royal apartments.

"Horace?" She called experimentally. No answer. She peeked into both Liam's and Benjamin's bedrooms, then into the one she shared with Horace, but all were empty. No one was in the kitchen, and Horace wasn't in his study. Horace had told her earlier that day that he hadn't had any plans on going anywhere that day, but she supposed he must have, if he wasn't here.

Then, she rounded the corner into their living room and found the three of them at the same time. They were fast asleep.

Despite her aching head and disgruntled nerves, Cassandra couldn't help but to smile. Horace was snoring softly, draped haphazardly across a plush longue chair. Liam and Ben were both curled up against either sides of their father's chest, their small size making Horace look like a giant. One of Horace's hands dangled down near the floor, and beneath it was an open book that had fallen from his grasp. Cassandra knelt down and picked it up. She smiled. It was one of the boys' favorite stories.

Now that she looked around, she could see other evidences of activity – there were various toys strewn about the room, including a half decimated stack of blocks that had probably been a magnificent castle at one time. Also, it appeared as though Horace had moved the coffee table to one side of the room, which could only mean that there had been a light-hearted wrestling match earlier that day. She wondered how many of the times Horace had let them win. Knowing him, probably every time. She shook her head and looked back over at three sleepyheads on the chair.

"My boys," she said, and kissed them all on their foreheads. "Love you."

To her surprise, just as she was leaning back, Horace's eyes fluttered open. After a brief moment of confusion, he said, "Cassie, you're back," he smiled.

She smiled back. "Mmhmm. I have to tell you, you three are quiet adorable."

Horace looked down at their sons and smiled. "Well, they are, at any rate. But this isn't a bed. Help me get them moved to their rooms."

Careful not to wake him, Cassandra picked up Benjamin, the smaller of the two boys, and carried him back to his bed. Once Horace had set Liam down, he shut the door softly behind him as he left and went back into the living room where Cassadra had gone. She smiled at him, and he went over to wrap her in a huge hug. She hugged him happily back, smiling and breathing in that familiar smell of Horace's clothes that had come to mean 'home' in her mind. A thought struck her.

"Do we have any tea?" She asked against his chest. He laughed.

"What?"

"Tea, you know, leaves and boiling water. Do we have any?"

"Yes. Actually, I just got some earlier today."

She hugged him tighter and hummed happily into his collar. "I knew there was a reason I married you."

"Why the sudden craving?"

"While I was on my way here, I decided that all I really wanted was a hug from you, to see the boys fast asleep, and get a nice cup of tea and a comfy sofa."

Horace smiled down at her. "Well, in that case, you go sit down on that comfy sofa right over there," he kissed her lightly, "and I'll go make us both some tea."

She smiled and thanked him and sunk gratefully into the couch that sat against one wall of their living room. Horace came back into the room after a moment.

"The water's on to boil. How did the meeting go today?" He sat down next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him.

"Utterly boring. I'd forgotten how annoying Gallican accents can be. And the man just wouldn't shut up."

Horace laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm assuming you made it clear that we're not packing up and heading to Gallica any time soon?"

"Yes, though they didn't seem too happy about it. Thankfully, the head ambassador is a father to five children. When I told him that I had two boys under the age of seven, he was more sympathetic to my view of the situation. After all, one doesn't simply pack up a three year old and drag him across the world."

"Indeed, and thank heaven for it, because I honestly didn't want to Gallica anyway."

"Horace! It's a fine country,"

"What? Yes, it may be fine, but it's not exactly where I'd want to spend the spring. I like it here."

"Oh, have it your way. I can't say that I disagree, though. What did you and the boys do while I was gone?"

"Well, Ben spent a good portion of the morning throwing a tantrum over not getting to go outside, but he stopped crying nearly as suddenly as he started – you know Ben," Horace shrugged.

"Mmm. Theatrical as always."

"Yes. Anyway, eventually he calmed down, and we spent the rest of the day messing about." He gestured widely to the various toys by way of explanation. "Liam wanted to visit your father, but I told him that I didn't want him sick, too, so he wrote him a card instead."

"What? Oh, that's so sweet of him!"

Horace nodded with a chuckle. "Sweet, yes. Though I'll be surprised if Duncan can actually read the boy's handwriting."

Cassandra shook her head. "You know he won't care – he loves his grandsons."

"I know." Horace said. A whistling interrupted them. "Oh, that'll be the tea," He sprung up and went into another room to hush the kettle. When he returned, he had two steaming mugs of tea. Cassandra took hers gratefully and inhaled the rich aroma.

"Did you get all that you wanted?" Horace asked her. She smiled at him.

"And more. Although now I've thought that a nap is a wonderful idea." She sipped at her tea.

He smiled at her. "Oh, I'm sure that can be arranged." He hugged her close with the arm that wasn't holding a cup of tea. "You go to sleep, I'll make sure the boys don't wake you if they wake up before you."

"What about you? You'll be the only one awake, you know."

"Oh, I'll be fine. After all, I already had a nap today."

Later, after they had both finished their tea, Cassandra collapsed onto their bed and sighed contentedly into the soft pillows. As Horace passed by, he pulled the door shut. He thought she was already asleep, but before he left the doorway, she called,

"Horace?"

He cracked the door back open. "Yes?"

"Love you."

He smiled. "You too. Sleep well, Cassie."

She let her eyes flutter closed. She was sure she would.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I'm not happy with either of these, and as for the second one, don't even ask me what it's about. It's structureless, plotless, meaningless fluff that just popped into my head, and it doesn't even relate to the prompt. UGH!

The first one is actually a short little story that I thought up quite a while ago. I have a whole post-RA head canon up inside my noggin, and when I made up the dog Lance, it was almost a joke, but lately he's been popping up more and more in his own stories. He's mainly Liam's dog. I might have to write more with him in the future, and explain how the Araluan Royals came into possession of him.


End file.
